Dilemma
by Stefmiester
Summary: Surprises begin from the minute Harry Potter's birthday starts to the end of his sixth Hogwarts year. Will Harry find true love or break hearts? Harry gets involved in more than one love triangle and realizes its just one big dilemma.
1. Unwanted

"That bloody bird is driving me mad," Harry heard Uncle Vernon mutter from down the hall. "Shrieking and rattling his bloody cage in the middle of the night…"  
  
Harry smirked. A few weeks ago, Uncle Vernon and his family would have let Harry get away with this, but he wasn't stupid enough to show disrespect towards Harry after what had happened when he got off Platform Nine and Three Quarters.  
  
It was July 29th, two days before Harry's birthday, and he hadn't spoken to any of his friends since the last day at Hogwarts. It was just like the vacation before his second year, when he thought his friends weren't keeping in touch with him but really a house-elf had stolen the letters.  
  
Harry looked longingly out the window, his smirk fading from the thought.   
  
The trees were swaying lightly in the wind, the sun was shining brightly onto Privet Drive, and the neighbors were, as usual, spending their afternoon caring for their lawns and cars.   
  
Harry shuffled over to his desk, grabbed some parchment and a quill, and began writing a letter to one of his best friends.   
  
iRon,  
  
Where are you? You promised to send me a letter as soon as you got home. I haven't gotten any since I arrived here.  
  
The Dursleys are treating me fine, as you would know. They ignore me most of the time, but I think that's for the best.  
  
Have you heard anything about Voldemort yet? How's Fudge and the Ministry reacting to the idea that he actually has come back?  
  
How's your summer been? Interesting, I hope? Mine's been ok, it would have been better if you and Hermione could have bothered to write me a letter.  
  
Write back quickly.  
  
Harry/i  
  
Harry reread it and carefully sealed the parchment, wondering why Ron and Hermione were ignoring him like this.   
  
He walked over to Hedwig, who was eating a dead frog in her cage and occasionally shrieking.   
  
"Hello, Hedwig," Harry greeted, opening up the cage door. "This one's to Ron, make sure that he writes back immediately."  
  
Hedwig gazed at him with round amber eyes as she held out her leg for Harry to attach the letter. He carried her over to the window and after Harry stroked her feathers, she soared off, disappearing beyond the corner.   
  
Approaching midnight, Harry was sprawled on his bed, hoping that Hedwig came back before he fell asleep. He'd been waiting for Ron's letter ever since he sent it, and it was so unlike Ron to ignore Harry's attempts at keeping in touch.   
  
As for Hermione, Harry had sent her about three letters in the past week, knowing that she'd always been the sensible one, the one that was reliable and trustworthy.   
  
But there was nothing, not one letter or one attempt at trying to send Harry a letter or even call him the Muggle way.  
  
Harry didn't know how long he was going to stay up and wait for Ron's letter, but all he knew was that he was sick of his life. He was tired of being "the Boy who Lived", tired of having his parents dead, tired of the Dursleys, and tired of realizing that Sirius was actually, truly gone.   
  
Harry grabbed his pillow and chucked it across the room. But instead of hitting the wall, it went straight through the window.   
  
Harry moaned. He was going to have to get it - otherwise he would be sleeping without a pillow.   
  
He grudgingly got up and tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to wake up the Dursleys. He opened the front door quietly.   
  
But when Harry opened the door, his jaw dropped at the sight. His head spun like a tornado and his heart soared.   
  
"Ron! Hermione!" Harry gasped. 


	2. The Introduction

Hermione's cheeks flushed excitedly and threw her arms around Harry.  
  
"Oh, Harry, we're so sorry we couldn't send you a letter, I thought that it'd be best if Ron didn't send you anything because he'd probably let it slip that we were coming," she shrieked, pulling away from Harry.  
  
"How come you didn't send me anything?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Because Ron kept on moaning that it wasn't fair that I was allowed to send you a letter, how did he know that I wasn't going to tell you either, so I compromised and told him that I wouldn't send anything as well."  
  
"Oh," Harry said, a wave of relief overtaking the rest of his feelings. "I thought you were – Ron?"  
  
Hermione and Harry both turned to Ron, who was currently backing away from the door and looking upwards.  
  
"What – what are you doing?" Hermione asked curiously.  
  
"A pillow came out of that window and fell on me…?" Ron replied blankly. He was pointing to Harry's bedroom window.  
  
Harry laughed.  
  
"That was mine," he admitted, grabbing the pillow off of the lush green grass.  
  
"Yours?" Hermione asked questioningly, as Harry ushered them inside.  
  
"Well, I was a bit frustrated - because of your lack of contact," Harry told them, looking away. He carefully made to close the door, but stopped.  
  
"Ron, did Hedwig come by to drop off a letter, by any chance?" he asked worriedly, looking up into the dark blue sky.  
  
"Huh? Oh, yeah, she did – she didn't want to travel with us, though, so I guess she's flying back home," Ron said absent-mindedly, looking around at Harry's home.  
  
Harry frowned.  
  
"Strange. She should be back by now."  
  
All of a sudden, Uncle Vernon came bounding down the stairs, followed by Aunt Petunia and Dudley.  
  
"Oh, hello," Hermione said politely, as Ron gave a small, curious wave.   
  
"Who are you?" Dudley asked bluntly, and everyone turned to Harry at once.  
  
"Wha – oh, this is Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, my best friends," Harry introduced to the Dursleys.   
  
Ron and Hermione beamed at him.  
  
The Dursleys looked thunderstruck at the sight of two more non-Dursleyish people in the house. Uncle Vernon looked ready to pull out chunks of his moustache again, Aunt Petunia's mouth was wide open, and Dudley ran back upstairs, shrieking.  
  
"That was Dudley, my cousin," Harry told Ron and Hermione. "This is my Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia."  
  
There was an awkward silence for a moment, at which ended when Hermione automatically stuck out her hand.  
  
Uncle Vernon was going purple in the face, and Harry thoroughly enjoyed these moments. He could not yell at Harry because of the Platform 9 ¾ incident, and even if he could, there were two more non-Dursleyish people standing right there who could jinx him on the spot.  
  
Vernon cautiously shook Hermione's hand, then wiped it on his pajama trousers, and Aunt Petunia quickly shook Hermione's hand too but then drew it away quickly like Hermione was some sort of hot potato.  
  
"Hi," Ron said. "I'd shake your hands too, but I think you're a bit too afraid."  
  
Harry suppressed a laugh.   
  
"Will it be fine if they stay in our house for awhile?" Harry asked, knowing that the answer was inevitably yes.  
  
Uncle Vernon was now a brilliant shade of brick red and violet at the same time, and Aunt Petunia was shaking and quivering like she was cold.  
  
"Fine," Vernon snarled, and he and his wife continued up the stairs, cursing under their breath.  
  
"Not very pleased to see us, were they," Hermione commented, quite disappointed.  
  
"Yeah, well, they're not pleased to see anyone who isn't exactly like them," Harry said indifferently.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione went to the living room and sat down and talked, mostly about their journey to Harry's house and the exciting parts of their vacation. Harry was told that they'd traveled by car; Hermione's parents had driven them. They had wanted to surprise Harry for his sixteenth birthday. Hedwig had arrived to shouts and screams from Hermione's Muggle parents, and had flown away immediately once Ron had taken the letter.  
  
"I wonder where she is?" Harry wondered aloud, worried.  
  
"Don't worry, she's probably going to be here by morning," Hermione said consolingly.  
  
Ron also explained that Fudge and the Ministry were going mad, convincing the Daily Prophet to continue writing articles on Voldemort's return and what had happened in the Ministry of Magic building when a few weeks ago they were writing about Voldemort returning was a lie.  
  
When Ron and Hermione began to bicker again, Harry dared not to interfere. He leaned back and listened to their spat, a grin overcoming his face at the sight of them in the Dursleys' home.  
  
Harry was content with the way things were for the moment – no worries, just Ron and Hermione fighting again like always, but Harry also knew that he had a million problems pushed to the back of his mind. 


	3. Back in the Cupboard

Well past midnight, the trio finally stopped talking and tiptoed upstairs. Harry was looking for extra blankets and pillows when he realized that his bedroom was too small for three people to fit in.  
  
As Ron and Hermione started another quiet row in the hallway, Harry decided that there was no choice but to sleep in the old cupboard again. He didn't like it there, but it really was the only way.  
  
But straightaway, when Harry proposed his idea to them, the three broke out in another argument, with Ron moaning that it wouldn't be any fun without Harry, Harry exasperatedly explaining that the Dursleys would have a fit if they slept anywhere else in the house, and Hermione whining that sleeping in the cupboard was downright gross.  
  
Hermione finally suggested that Harry sleep in the cupboard for just that one night and ask the Dursleys if they could sleep in the living room instead the next night.  
  
Harry bade goodnight to Ron, who was grudgingly sleeping on a mattress on the floor; and Hermione, who had decided to sleep on Harry's bed (with the sheets changed, of course).  
  
When Harry opened his cupboard door and went to lie on the bed, he felt ten years old again – before he found out that he was a wizard.  
  
Harry awoke the next morning to the sounds of quiet talking somewhere near the cupboard door. He carefully took his glasses and stuffed them on before opening the flap to see who was outside.  
  
Ron and Hermione were talking in low voices directly in front of the door. Apparently, they had decided to forget about their argument and were back to normal, like they always did.  
  
"Maybe we shouldn't open the door," Hermione was saying nervously. "He might wake up."  
  
"We'll see if he's awake," Ron replied.   
  
"I'm awake," Harry grunted. Hermione and Ron jumped with a start, surprised at Harry's sudden awakening.  
  
"Morning," Hermione said cheerfully once he'd stepped out of the cupboard. She peered inside, a look of disgust clearly expressed across her face.  
  
"Awesome!" Ron said happily, taking a peek as well.  
  
"Hey, has Hedwig arrived yet?" Harry asked distractedly, closing the cupboard door.  
  
Ron shook his head.  
  
"Not yet. Sorry, mate."  
  
Once Harry had pulled on a pair of baggy jeans and grey t-shirt, Harry, Ron, and Hermione stepped outside to grab breakfast at a nearby restaurant.   
  
"The Dursleys probably wouldn't let you eat their breakfast," Harry admitted bitterly as they walked up the street.  
  
"How can anyone be that rude?" Hermione wondered. "They're probably just insecure."  
  
Harry and Ron exchanged knowing looks.  
  
Once they reached the restaurant, Harry kept silent as Ron and Hermione began to talk about last year's happenings. Harry had seen two deaths in about a year, and it was wearing him down inside. His best friends were the only ones who could make him forget about it for a few moments.  
  
Harry looked round the restaurant. It was a small, cozy diner with white walls and blue trim, as well as blue booths and chairs, and white tables. Scattered among the tables were adults that looked over fifty years old.  
  
"Not popular to young 'uns, this restaurant," Ron muttered, and Hermione laughed. But Harry was distracted by an old lady sitting at one of the booths.   
  
"Mrs. Figg!" Harry said in surprise.  
  
Mrs. Figg turned round and smiled at Harry, limping slightly as she got up and walked over.  
  
"Hello, dear," she said kindly, patting his head.  
  
"These are my friends, Ron and Hermione," Harry told her, gesturing towards the two. "And you two know about Mrs. Figg."  
  
"Why, you must be Miss Granger!" Mrs. Figg exclaimed, curiously studying Hermione with a touch of excitement on her face.  
  
"Hello," Hermione greeted cautiously.  
  
"You must wonder why I know your name," Mrs. Figg chuckled. "Well, a friend of mine whose name I must not reveal knows how well you did on those OWLs."  
  
Hermione looked taken aback, and Harry was sure that he saw her open her mouth (probably to ask about her results) for a second, then close it.  
  
"How well did she do?" Ron asked enviously.   
  
Mrs. Figg hesitated.  
  
"Do not tell anyone that I told you, but Miss Granger here has received an 'Outstanding' in every single subject."  
  
Hermione turned brick red, torn between excitement and shock; Ron's jaw dropped to the floor; and Harry frowned for a moment.  
  
"That must mean…" he began, but Mrs. Figg continued his sentence.  
  
"That it is possible that Miss Granger could become an Auror."  
  
Now it was Harry's turn to act shocked.  
  
All four of them were silent. Ron and Harry were the ones who had wanted to be Aurors, not Hermione. Harry was more envious than he had ever been in his life.  
  
"Well, I've got to run now," Mrs. Figg said, clapping her hands together cheerfully.  
  
"Wait," Ron called after her.  
  
Mrs. Figg paused before turning around again.  
  
"Yes?" she asked tentatively.  
  
Harry knew what Ron wanted to ask, so he spoke up instead.  
  
"If you know what Hermione got on her OWLs, you must know what Ron and I got."  
  
Mrs. Figg pursed her lips and sighed. Harry took this as a bad sign.  
  
"Okay, I'll tell you."  
  
And they went to chat about it at Mrs. Figg's booth. 


	4. OWL Results

Harry's heart was beating unbelievably fast as they took their seats in Mrs. Figg's booth. He was actually going to find out his OWL results. His career would depend on these next few sentences Mrs. Figg was going to announce.  
  
Harry quietly took a seat in the corner of the booth, waiting for Mrs. Figg to open her mouth.  
  
Harry and Ron gave each other worried, anxious looks at the sight of Mrs. Figg's disappointed expression.  
  
"Ron and Harry." She stated, although Harry did not know why.  
  
Harry's heart raced faster.   
  
"All I'm saying is that you both seemed to have roughly the same amount of 'Outstandings', 'Exceeds Expectations', 'Acceptables', and 'Dreadfuls'."  
  
She flinched at the last word, but Harry's reaction was worse than that. His heart sank horribly to his stomach, his brain was jammed with anger, and his body froze at once. Nor he or Ron would be able to become Aurors.  
  
"Dreadful? We got Dreadfuls?" Ron shouted angrily. He seemed to be able to function properly, unlike Harry.  
  
Mrs. Figg gave him a sympathetic smile.  
  
"One each."  
  
Harry knew exactly what subject. It was History of Magic.  
  
Ron seemed to know, too, because he slumped down in his chair, looking like he was about to cry.  
  
"Mum's going to kill me," he said miserably.  
  
Hermione cleared her throat.  
  
"I told you two to work harder this year…" she started, but Ron cut her off.  
  
"Sorry if we don't love to work all the time like you," Ron snapped angrily.  
  
Mrs. Figg looked uncomfortable.  
  
"Well, I'd better get going," she said quickly. "Bye, Harry. Nice to meet you two," she said, then swept away.   
  
Hermione seemed to like Mrs. Figg greatly after she'd found out what her OWL results were; in fact she started chatting away at how Mrs. Figg was a truly understanding, kind woman, and Ron slumped down further, his head disappearing under the table.  
  
Harry had never felt so worthless in his life. He wasn't cut out to be an Auror, after all.  
  
Hermione finally stopped babbling, her eager expression fading away into pure sympathy.  
  
"We should order our food," she said quietly.  
  
The breakfast was not as happy and cheerful as Harry wanted it to be. It was stony and silent, with Hermione occasionally trying to get them to talk, but Ron and Harry just sat there; staring at their food with disgusted looks on their faces.  
  
Once they'd begun to walk home, Harry spoke up, the first time since Mrs. Figg had announced their results.  
  
"Boy, I can hardly wait until our real OWL results arrive," he said bitterly, kicking a rock down the sidewalk.  
  
Harry suddenly felt Hermione grab his hand and squeeze it tenderly. He looked up, shocked.  
  
"Don't worry," she said softly. "It's going to be fine."  
  
Ron's head shot up at once. His eyes moved from Harry and Hermione's tightly wrapped hands, to Hermione's wistful face, to Harry's shocked expression, and immediately he jerked out of his angered thoughts.  
  
"I'm not feeling that great either," he said loudly. "I mean, were stupid enough not to listen to Hermione?"  
  
After finishing the sentence, he looked hopefully at her.  
  
Hermione laughed, dropped Harry's hand, and instead of grabbing Ron's, patted him awkwardly on the back.  
  
Ron's eyes turned to slits, and he fell back into his reverie.  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. Was it just him or did he notice Ron giving Hermione a look that said "I like you"? Was Hermione giving him the same look?  
  
Harry shuddered at the thought. That was impossible.  
  
When they got back into Harry's house, Ron muttered that he needed to send his mother a letter and Hermione quickly excused herself, bounding upstairs after Ron.  
  
Harry walked into the kitchen. The Dursleys were round the table, eating breakfast. There was a cheery mood in the room, as Harry was not there to bother them.  
  
"I'm back," Harry said hollowly.  
  
Uncle Vernon didn't turn around; Aunt Petunia looked up slightly then returned to eating her grapefruit quarter; and a look of terror shadowed Dudley's pink, round face.  
  
"W-where are your f-friends?" Dudley stammered.   
  
Harry tried not to laugh aloud. Dudley was supposed to be a heavyweight champion, not some lost puppy in the middle of a thunderstorm beside the highway.  
  
As Dudley continued cowering, Harry turned to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.  
  
"I was thinking - could my friends and I sleep in the living room? There's not much space in my bedroom." Harry said politely.  
  
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia exchanged horrified, anxious looks. They could not say no, yet if they said yes, what would happen to their neat living room?  
  
Uncle Vernon turned purple as he answered.  
  
"Yes," he grunted ruefully, turning back to his grapefruit quarter.  
  
Harry quietly thanked them and headed up to his bedroom to tell Hermione and Ron the news.  
  
Once he opened the door and walked in, he noticed an air of fury about the room. Ron was angrily rummaging in his trunk, socks and shirts soaring across the room, one narrowly missing Harry's forehead. Hermione was sitting on Harry's bed, reading The Darkwald Theory, but for the first time Harry saw that she wasn't paying attention; it was upside down and she was scowling at Ron.  
  
"I, er – I asked the Dursleys," Harry said, confused. Hermione set down her book and looked up at him, and Ron stopped tossing clothes across the room.  
  
"They said we could sleep in the living room," he explained.  
  
Hermione smiled, and Ron cheered.  
  
"That's great, mate. I'm sleeping furthest from Hermione; she snores like an elephant half-asleep."  
  
Harry turned away so that Hermione could not see him laughing, but Ron noticed and sniggered.  
  
"I don't care where I sleep," Hermione said, her nose upturned. "Just as long as it's not near Ron, he tends to wet his bed occasionally."  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows.  
  
Hermione turned up her nose even higher and strolled out of the room, leaving her book lying opened on Harry's bed.  
  
Ron and Harry looked at each other.  
  
"I don't wet the bed!" he said indignantly. 


	5. Memories

For the rest of the day, Harry decided not to ask Ron or Hermione about their argument. Instead, he let the minutes pass by spending copious amounts of time with each one, half the day with Ron and half the day with Hermione. He wished that they wouldn't be like this for his birthday; besides, he wanted them to have fun.  
  
Later that evening, Harry alone began to set up the living room. He placed his mattress in between Ron's and Hermione's beside the fireplace, as the Dursleys forbade them to use the couches.  
  
As he was laying the pillows and blankets down, Ron came stumbling in with his pajamas on, a bored look on his face.  
  
"I'm bored," he announced, plopping down on the mattress closest to the wall.  
  
"Yeah, well, it would have been more fun hadn't you and Hermione had another stupid fight," Harry snapped, tossing a pillow on Hermione's mattress.  
  
Ron looked guilty for a moment.  
  
"Sorry, mate," he said quietly, sliding under the covers.  
  
Harry didn't answer. He went into the backyard where Hermione was reading a different book called Durmstrang Revealed.   
  
"Why are you reading that?" Harry asked, ambling across the lawn to Hermione's spot on the grass.  
  
"I was curious about Viktor's school," she explained, turning a page. Her eyes were still glued onto the book.  
  
"Well, come on in, I've already set up the mattresses."  
  
Hermione carefully marked her page and followed Harry into the living room. Ron was already half-asleep, the covers pulled up over his head.  
  
"Harry, where's the bathroom?" Hermione asked in a high-pitched voice, daring not to look at Ron.  
  
"Second door to your right," Harry replied, steering her to the hallway.  
  
When Hermione quietly came back and went to sleep, Harry was still wide awake. He was thinking about Sirius, Lord Voldemort, the Ministry, his OWL results, and a lot more. He couldn't believe how complicated his life was. Even the little things, like Ron & Hermione's spat, bugged him almost as much.  
  
Ron's soft snores were silently filling up the room, while Hermione, Harry could tell, was still tossing and turning.  
  
Harry glanced at the clock on the mantle over the fireplace. It was already twelve o'clock – he was sixteen.   
  
Harry looked over at Hermione, who had chosen a comfy spot and was already falling asleep. He sighed and turned on his back.  
  
Once he did this, Harry heard a little pop – the sound that occurred usually when someone's head appeared in the fireplace.  
  
But before Harry turned around to look, he realized that it couldn't be – there were no flames flickering, and therefore the head would not be able to appear.  
  
But as he gazed at the shadows on the wall, he noticed that somehow flames had appeared in the fireplace.  
  
He gasped and whirled around; knowing that it wasn't Sirius, but it reminded him of Sirius so horribly that he wanted to believe it was.  
  
Instead, he caught sight of Lupin's balding head, the flames licking the sides of his face.  
  
"Lupin!" Harry exclaimed quietly. "How did you know we were here? How – how did you get the fire starting? How did-"  
  
Lupin laughed.  
  
"Happy birthday, Harry," Lupin said cheerfully, sticking a poorly-wrapped present into the flames.  
  
Harry hesitated.  
  
"Don't worry, you won't get hurt," he laughed again.   
  
Harry grinned and took the present.  
  
"You really didn't have to...thank you..." Harry said happily, but he was happier seeing Lupin than receiving a present.  
  
He set the present aside and went closer to the fireplace.  
  
"How are things?" Lupin asked quietly. Harry knew he was talking about how he was coping with Sirius' death.  
  
Harry shrugged.  
  
"Not as bad. Ron and Hermione are here, as you can see," Harry said, gesturing towards the two unmoving figures.  
  
"Tell them I said hello," Lupin said.   
  
Harry nodded, and there was a silence. Neither of them knew what to say at that moment.  
  
"So how did you get the flames starting?" Harry asked curiously.  
  
"My secret." He winked.  
  
"Well, how did you know we were here?"  
  
Lupin's head bobbed a bit.  
  
"Ron's parents told me that he and Hermione were here, and I thought I'd try and see if you were sleeping in your living room – you know, just to check up."  
  
Harry smiled.  
  
"I tried to connect your fireplace to the Floo Network at first, but they said it already was."  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"The Weasleys came in my third year. You're lucky the Dursleys don't know about this, or they'd beat me half to death."  
  
Lupin's smile faded.  
  
"Are they treating you fine?"  
  
Harry thought about it for a second.  
  
"Yeah, I guess – wait, are you in the Order Headquarters?" Harry asked.  
  
Lupin nodded.  
  
"It feels quite strange to be here without Sirius," he commented sadly.  
  
Suddenly his head turned round.  
  
"Well, I'd better get going. Happy birthday!"   
  
And with that, his head popped again; the flames disappeared; and the darkness of the house cast over the room again.  
  
Harry looked down at Lupin's present. Harry had a feeling that he should open it, now.  
  
So he crept upstairs, turned the light on in his bedroom, and unstuck the piece of parchment from the wrapping paper.  
  
Dearest Harry, it said. Happy sixteenth birthday! I hope you'll find this present helpful in many ways more than one. My best wishes, Lupin.  
  
Harry's stomach churned. Lupin was already as shabby as he was, he didn't need to waste his money on Harry...  
  
Harry carefully set the parchment aside and tore open the red wrapping paper.  
  
Once it was unwrapped, Harry noticed that it was a black leather-bound scrapbook. His heart beating, Harry flipped it over and opened it.  
  
There was a picture of Lupin, Sirius, and Harry's dad. Peter Pettigrew appeared to have walked away.  
  
Lupin was waving and smiling, mouthing the words "Happy Birthday" and Sirius was grinning and transforming into a black dog; chasing pigeons in the picture.   
  
Harry laughed aloud, thinking of the time in his fifth year when Sirius had done the same thing while walking him to Platform 9 ¾.  
  
Then Harry's eyes moved to his father. His father was also waving and smiling, but his eyes were sad. Harry guessed that James had wanted to be there for Harry's sixteenth birthday.  
  
Harry turned the page, finding more pictures of the three of them and also a lot of other stuff, such as notes passed between each other during class, and assignments they'd received back.  
  
For the first time in many years, Harry's eyes filled up with tears as he paged through the book. 


End file.
